Her hands slipped into his hair, tugging frantically. He groaned, pressing her to him, savoring the feel of her. One hand slipped beneath her sweater, greedily cupping her full breast. The weight of it in his palm made him moan. She shook, a broken little sob spilling into the cold air. It was his kiss she craved, grasping the back of his neck and pulling him closer. And his touch that made her breathing hitch and her entire body tremble. He watched, letting her move against him. She was lost, pulling his hair, eyes closed, her long neck arched back as she came apart on his lap.
His heart was pounding. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Hair a mess, lips swollen. His fingers traced the seam of her mouth as she sighed, her arms wrapping around his neck. He couldn’t wait. His hands were relentless—stroking, touching, pushing her long skirt past her thighs to her waist. With one tug, her underwear ripped free. Nothing separated them. And he couldn’t wait. She was warm, encasing him deep inside her. Her ragged whisper of “Oh Ryder” drove him on.
His hands slid up her back, the silk of her skin and the brush of her soft curves inflaming him. He smoothed her hair back, his hands exploring her body, her curves, her softness. His nose brushed along the length of her neck, inhaling her scent. His lips latched on to her earlobe, making her gasp. Her hands moved up his chest, sliding along his shoulders to cradle his head. She arched against him, groaning hoarsely as they fit more deeply together. It was her groan that struck some sort of primal chord inside him. All at once, she was everywhere, holding him, overwhelming his senses. He gritted his teeth, fighting for control as she lost herself in the passion. Her body bowed, every inch of her tightening around him.
Her release sent him over the edge. His climax hit hard, rocking him from his boots to every hair on his head. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think... All he could do was hold on. He gripped her hips, desperate to keep her tight against him. Even when it was over, he couldn’t ease his hold on her, couldn’t let her go—he didn’t want to. He wanted to etch the feel of her, the smell of her, into his mind before she slipped away. His hands tangled in her hair as he kissed her. He’d do whatever he could to hold on to this intimacy before the reality of what had happened sank in.
Annabeth ended the kiss, shaking her head. “Ryder...” she gasped, her voice unsteady.
How could he make this better? He smoothed her hair, but couldn’t look at her. He didn’t know what to do. But he knew he needed to do something.
“Ryder?” There was already regret in her voice, he heard it.
“Annabeth—” But that was all he managed to whisper. What could he say? He was banging his dead best friend’s wife in the cab of his truck. His head fell back against the seat. He’d ruined everything—like he always did. “Shit,” he murmured, still gasping for breath. As soon as the word slipped out, he knew he’d sent the situation from bad to worse.
She tried to climb off his lap but wavered, her skirts pinned beneath him. He caught her, cradling her close and breathing in her scent. He wasn’t used to feeling uncertainty, or panic. But something about her pushing away from him, almost as if she couldn’t bear his touch, filled him with bone-deep loss. He pulled her skirts free and let her go, watching her smooth her clothing into place. She sat stiffly at the end of the bench seat, looking just as dazed and confused as he felt.
He started the truck, adjusting his clothes as discreetly as possible. His mind worked overtime, looking for something to say to break the silence filling the cab of his truck.
“Why...were you here?” she asked, running her fingers through her long golden hair.
“Jasper called.”
She glanced at him. “Who?”
“The mechanic here. One that towed your car in? He told me what kind of car had slid off the highway and I knew it had to be you...your car. Figured you’d need help...or be stranded.” Greg’s car. No one else drove a midnight-blue 1967 Impala in this part of Texas. Which meant Annabeth, maybe Cody, was involved. Greg’s wife. Greg’s family. He swallowed, clearing his throat. She didn’t need to know the phone call had scared the shit out of him. He’d left all his lights on, and the door to his apartment was probably open. “I’ll have to order parts for Lady Blue.” Best thing about Greg’s car, it was all metal. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened to Annabeth if she’d been driving anything else. “Glad you’re okay.”
“Thank you.” She was using her principal voice now, never a good sign.
“On your way to get Cody?” he asked. She didn’t say anything, so he risked a glance her way. She was staring out the window, nodding. So she wasn’t going to talk to him. Fine. Why should he expect her to? He’d just taken advantage of her. In his truck cab. He shook his head, his hold tightening on the steering wheel.
What the hell was he thinking? Hadn’t he screwed up enough relationships in his life? Annabeth wasn’t just another woman, she was his friend. And he didn’t have many of those.
He glanced at her, wishing he had the words to fix this. Instead, he got caught up in how damn pretty she was. Pretty and smart and funny. Good and innocent and sweet. He stared straight ahead, turning the windshield wipers up.
Annabeth Upton was the marrying type, not the one-night-stand type. He called her Princess to remind him of that. Didn’t work tonight. He’d broken his promise to Greg and jeopardized one of the only friendships that mattered to him.
He hit ice several times, but he kicked his truck into 4x4 mode with no problems. It took twice as long to get back to Stonewall Crossing. By the time they turned into Annabeth’s neighborhood, the ice had turned to snow.
He pulled into her driveway, leaving the truck running and the lights on. “Let me check the power.” He held his hand out for her keys. All it took was a hard rain and half of the small town lost power. An ice storm could be downright crippling.
She put the keys in his hand, barely looking at him.
He slammed the truck door behind him and hurried up the first two steps of the porch, slipped and landed, hard, on his butt.
“You okay?” Her voice was laced with unmistakable laughter.
“Yeah, yeah,” he answered, sliding as he managed to stand. “Laugh it up, Princess.” But, sore butt and all, he’d rather she was laughing than giving him the silent treatment.
He made sure the tiny house had electricity and the faucets were working before heading back to the front door.
Annabeth stood just inside. She looked at him, blushed and then hung her coat on one of the pegs behind the door. “Sorry you had to go out in that.”
“Nothing else to do,” he shrugged. Which was a piss-poor thing to say. He’d gone because it was her—period.
She rolled her eyes. She’d been rolling her eyes since he could remember. It always made him smile.
“Good damn thing, too, or you’d have ended up alone at Ned’s place.” His shoved his hands into his pockets. “Troy Clark is bad news, Annabeth.”